Past, Present, and Future - Death Eater For Life
by believeindreamers
Summary: GoF Spoilers! This is totally unrelated to my other fics, but it may help you understand my version of Snape's character better. There's a sequel, 'And Destiny Calls,' which is posted, although still under construction.
1. Default Chapter Title

Eight Seconds  
  
This is from Snape's pov. It goes back in forth a time, hope it's not too confusing.  
GoF Spoilers!  
  
  
  
November 13, 1987   
  
  
I stared at the graves, my mind a million miles away. But nothing could erase one   
  
thought from my mind. It was my fault. It always was.  
  
Lily and James Potter: the Dark Lord's final victims, was how the newspapers   
  
wrote it. I just called it a tragedy, as did all who knew them. They didn't deserve to die.  
  
I was the one who had been serving Voldemort, and once more innocent people had paid   
  
for my own sake. They'd been killed a week ago, but I could still see the scene before my   
  
eyes with perfect clarity, no matter had much I wished I could permanently erase it from   
  
my mind.   
................................................................................................................................................  
  
October 31, 1987   
  
  
"They're- they're dead?!" Lupin's voice was full of pain. "They can't be,   
  
not them, not now."  
  
"It's true," Dumbledore said sadly. I just stood there, staring at the Potter's house   
  
in disbelief. News of the tragedy had spread quickly, and Dumbledore had been called to   
  
the site along with other Ministry officials. He had asked me to come along as well, 'to   
  
have an unemotional opinion', as he put it, but I knew the real reason he wanted me here.  
  
He knew that Voldemort would return, one day, and he wanted to show me this   
  
last thing, let James Potter have his last triumph over me. No, that was not true. He   
  
merely wanted to be sure of my loyalties. And he had them. I would never go back to   
  
Voldemort. Not after this.  
  
`He didn't want her!' I thought furiously. `He didn't need Lily, and he killed her   
  
just for the sake of it. Because she wanted to protect her son.'  
  
"Severus?" Dumbledore said softly, questioningly. I glanced over at him, forcing   
  
myself to keep my emotions under control, to not show weakness.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Could you, um, look around for..." His voice trailed off, and he merely gestured  
  
to the wreckage of what had been a beautiful house.  
  
"Yeah, sure," I said casually. I headed for the wreckage and carefully stepped   
  
inside. The house was near collapse, and I briefly considered how terribly ironic it would   
  
be if I was killed when Potter's house collapsed. I started looking around, not quite sure   
  
what I was looking for, but obedient to Dumbledore's wishes.   
  
I continued down the hallway, ignoring the ominous creaking of the house around   
  
me, and found myself in what had obviously been the nursery. I looked around the room,   
  
and picked up a book off the floor. It was hand-written in Lily's delicate script. I read   
  
through it quickly, committing the words inside to memory. Then I decided to keep it   
  
with me; Lupin might... Why on earth was I concerned about Lupin's feelings?  
  
`Because you're hurting too,' prompted a little voice in the back of my mind. And   
  
much as I hated admitting it to myself, I was. `I had not liked them, I've lost nothing,' the   
  
rational part of my mind insisted. That was true as well; Potter and I had not been friends   
  
by any means, and I was not like the rest of the mindless idiots who'd spent their lives   
  
adoring Lily. But already I missed the light-heartedness Lily brought to everything she   
  
did; missed the michevious glint in Potter's eyes when he'd thought up a good prank.  
  
I walked back out into the hallway and continued toward the back door. And   
  
halfway there I found the one thing I'd hoped not to find. Lily's body.  
  
I stopped abruptly, feeling slightly light-headed. I was used to fear, to pain, but   
  
never, never, had I been through this. This was why I had turned spy for Dumbledore;   
  
this was why I spent each and every day in fear of discovery. So I wouldn't have to look   
  
at something like this and know that I had caused it, that I was responsible.  
  
But I couldn't just leave her here. I carefully picked her up and carried her   
  
outside. It wasn't difficult; I was easily strong enough to carry her without trouble.   
  
Dumbledore and Remus were waiting at the door.  
  
"Oh my God," Remus whispered, staring at the still form in my arms.   
  
Dumbledore conjured up a stretcher, and I gently placed Lily on it. A few of the Hit   
  
Wizards came over and carried the stretcher away. Remus fainted.  
  
I caught him as he reeled backward. "Oh, for heaven's sakes," I grumbled.  
  
"Give him time, Severus," Albus said slowly. "He was one of their closest   
  
friends, you know."  
  
"Lupin, wake up," I ordered, shaking him. No response. "Remus Lupin!"  
  
"Wha-" he mumbled, confused. Then he realized what was going on, and pulled   
  
away from me swiftly. "Er, sorry about that," he said, embarrassed. "I normally don't   
  
pass out like that, it's just that they were so happy, and it's so awful, and-"  
  
"You don't have to explain anything to me," I said sternly. "Forget it. Preferably,   
  
as quickly as possible."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Like I said, don't mention it. Ever."  
  
"Was there anything else in the house, Severus?" The headmaster interrupted.  
  
"Actually, yes." I handed the book I'd found to Lupin. "That was in the baby's   
  
room. I think it looks like Lily's writing, but I'm not sure." He flipped open the little   
  
book and read the first few pages.  
  
"This means a lot to me," he said quietly. "This was one of the songs Lily used to   
  
sing to Harry all the time."  
  
"Keep it, then, to remember them by. No one will mind." But as I looked at the   
  
house before me, I knew I didn't need a book to remember this, the one night when   
  
everything I thought was true suddenly didn't seem important anymore. When life itself   
  
suddenly seemed all that much more precious. When all that mattered were those eight   
  
seconds Voldemort had needed to do the curses that had killed the Potters.   
................................................................................................................................................  
  
Present (post GoF)  
  
  
I stood looking over the graves, thinking about the past, and my future. I had just   
  
been asked to do what had almost gotten me killed before. Be a spy for Dumbledore. I   
  
would refuse, but...  
  
But I had sworn to protect Harry, the night his parents died. I'd known, even then,  
  
that he would be coming to Hogwarts; that Voldemort would not simply leave the last   
  
Potter in peace. And I, fool that I was, would have to go back. Not for me, but for the   
  
one person I despised beyond all else, but that I would die for, should things come to that.  
  
"Are you happy, James?" I said out loud. "Is this what you want? Will this   
  
finally make us even?" But I knew it wouldn't. Nothing could make us even. Because   
  
the Potter's had saved my life that night, whether they knew it or not. I had been about to   
  
go back to Lord Voldemort for good the night they were attacked.  
  
  



	2. Default Chapter Title

Okay, okay, I really did it this time. The one time I really think I'm not gonna do a sequel and I do one. This is the sequel to `Eight Seconds', and like that   
one, it's from Snape POV. It's short, you've been warned. P.S. when things as in single quotations '', that's what Snape's thinking.  
  
  
  
  
"So, you return to us," Voldemort hissed.   
  
'He will not hurt me, I'm too valuable to lose,' I thought to myself. It wasn't working though. The thought of what would happen if Voldemort knew I was a traitor stood out too vividly in my mind.   
  
It had been two hours since Potter had returned from another near escape from Voldemort, this time caused by the Triwizard Tournament and Barty Crouch. I had left when I was certain that Harry would be all right.  
  
'Why am I worried about him? Heck, I don't even like him,' I grumbled to myself. But, whether I liked it or not, I had taken the burden of securing Harry's safety on myself, and I would do what I felt was necessary to protect him from Voldemort. I briefly considered the meeting the teachers had had soon after Potter had returned.   
  
Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Madam Pomprey were good teachers, and were also very concerned about Potter's safety, but I still didn't think any of them truly understood the dangers of Voldmort's wrath. For that matter, I often felt that Dumbledore was too trusting, too ready to look for the good in people to really understand Voldemort. Sure, he'd fought Voldemort several times, but I still got the impression that he wanted to think- no, to hope, that Voldemort wasn't purely evil. In fact, the only one who could possibly understand the Dark Lord better than I did was Harry Potter himself.   
  
Potter was noble, almost to a fault, and a very powerful wizard in his own right, but he held none of the hope and optimism that made Dumbledore such an easy target for people like me. Harry honestly understood Voldemort for what he was, and I dared to hope that once he had grown up he could banish Voldemort once and for all. And if he did, I would never have to do this, never have to put my life on the line in his place.  
  
'Careful,' I scolded myself. 'You can't just start blaming Potter for this, you took this on yourself.' That was true, and yet I couldn't help hating Harry for the admiration he got from everyone who knew him, for that sense of power and leadership he had about him.   
  
But the one thing I hated about him beyond all else was his lack of fear. He did not fear the Dark Lord's powers. Voldemort had tried to kill him numerous times, but Potter had yet to learn fear. And there were no excuses: Harry knew the cruelty, the viciousness of the Dark Lord as well as I did.   
  
"Severus?" Voldemort prompted. I glanced over at him, and I was terrified. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Voldemort was impressive even without his followers, and now, in his own castle, with his followers all around him, he was a terrifying picture.  
  
'And yet Potter faced him, alone and unarmed, and did not fear him.' The thought came unbidden to my mind, and I hated Harry for making me feel like this, like I had to be what he had grown up being.  
  
"Yes, my Lord?" I said, carefully keeping my tone neutral.  
  
"I believe that you are not faithful to our cause," Voldemort said carelessly, and I almost passed out then and there. But somehow I managed to keep my composure.  
  
"I believe you speak of Igor Karkaroff," I said coolly. "The fool wanted me to cover for him at the Triwizard Tournament. He has fled, but I suppose you already knew that."  
  
"You're correct in assuming I already knew about Karkaroff's treason. But don't change the subject. I woukld like to hear your excuses."  
  
"Dumbledore has grown to trust me more and more since your disappearance. But to come when you summoned us might have compromised my position. Potter was still not back, and to much of the magical world regard him as a hero, it might not have looked good for me to disappear so soon after him."  
  
"Perhaps. And since you are so important to our cause, I will accept your excuse. But do not fail me again."  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
"You may leave." I apparated away, and never have I been so glad to get away. I apparated straight to the Forbidden Forest, since you cannot apparate into Hogwarts itself. I went back up to the castle, knowing that Dumbledore would be very relieved to find me still in one piece.  
  
"He believed you?" were the first words out of his mouth. Albus had been waiting at the door, and he closed it behind him, to prevent anyone from hearing. It was late, and all students and teachers should be in bed by now, but I could think of a particular trio of students who were not above sneaking out of bed and roaming the halls after hours.  
  
"No, I'm a ghost," I said sarcastically, and immediately felt guilty. It wasn't his fault; he didn't make me go back to Voldemort.  
  
"I'm sorry," I sighed. "I'm just so stressed out right now. He's gotten touchy, and if I wasn't so important to him, I don't know what would've happened."  
  
"All's well that ends well," he said brightly. "I should've known you'd be tired." He grinned micheviously. "Of course, I might want to warn a certain fourth year student that you're likely to be feeling vicious during classes tomorrow." I rolled my eyes.  
  
"Oh, I'm going to be too worried to be mean."  
  
"Uh-huh. I think not."  
  
"Maybe so. But can you blame me?"  
  
"Not really. I wouldn't be doing what you're doing, that's for sure."  
  
"'Course not. Nobody in their right mind would. Voldemort isn't an easy person to please."  
  
"I think Harry knows," he said abruptly.  
  
"You told him?" It wasn't an accusation, just a question.  
  
"Moi?"  
  
"Yes, you. Every time you say you think something, I turns out to be true, and the only way I can think of for Potter to know for sure is if you told him."  
  
"I wouldn't be sure about that. Harry's quite smart, and he undoubtedly could have figured it out on his own."  
  
"Could, huh? So you did tell him."  
  
"Yes, I told him, but that's not important. He would've known anyway. He should know, I think."  
  
"I don't," I snarled. "Voldemort doesn't ask questions. If he even thinks you're lying to him, that's it, you're history."  
  
"Harry wouldn't do that. He doesn't like you much, Severus, and I can't say I blame him, the way you treat him, but he's not a traitor."  
  
"Maybe not. I don't like Potter, but I don't think he would deliberately tell anyone what he knows."  
  
"The exact reason I told him what you were."  
  
"You're not getting it. I don't think Potter would deliberately say anything to put me in danger, but he trusts his friends, and if any of them were working for Voldemort..." I always tried not to think about that possibility, but I knew it could happen. Look at the Potters.  
  
"Well, there's nothing we can do now, Severus. He knows, and that's it."  
  
"I suppose," I said wearily, and, without another word, I headed upstairs to bed. It was stupid to worry, I tried to convince myself. Potter knew. So what. And despite my objections, I didn't think Harry was likely to tell anyone, even Weasley or Granger.   
  
I didn't like Potter, but he did deserve to know. Deserve to know what I had been. I had taken it upon myself to protect Potter, no one had made me do it; no one had even suggested that I go back to being a spy for Potter's sake.   
  
But I had made a promise to Lily and James that night, and I would not break it for the world. And nothing else mattered.  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Default Chapter Title

Okay, in request by popular demand, this is the not-so-highly awaited sequel to `Eight Seconds,' and `When Nothing Else Matters.' All author's notes from the other fics apply here, but here's a review: things in single quotations are what Snape is thinking, and it's from Snape's POV.  
To Hermione Weasley: go ahead & use my stories on your page, and thanks for asking.  
  
  
  
  
  
I scowled at the class, and they quailed under my furious stare. It wasn't really fair to take my anger out on the class, but who said I cared about fair?  
  
"Potter!" I roared, and Harry met my gaze calmly. There was something in his eyes that bordered on pity, and I didn't like it. I hated pity.  
  
"Were you talking? In my class?"  
  
"No, sir," he answered softly. I knew he knew what I had been-one of Voldemort's-but I hadn't expected that pity, that understanding, from Potter, of all people. Ron, however, was glaring at me hatefully, and I was pretty sure he knew as well.   
  
It might just have been hatred for deducting some many points from Gryffindor, though, because I'd been doing a lot of that lately, not feeling up to giving detentions. Not that there was much point in taking off points, since the inter-house championship had been cancelled, but I had found that students still considered it a matter of honor to not lose points.  
  
"So, Potter, are you trying to get smart with me?" I demanded, stalking over to him.  
  
"It's no use trying to do that, he wouldn't understand anyway," Ron muttered to Harry. I smirked. That was grounds for quite a few more points off Gryffindor.  
  
"That will be fifty points from Gryffindor for your remark, Weasley," I barked. He looked as though he was about to protest, but Harry shot him a warning look and he fell silent.  
  
"No, go ahead and speak your mind, Weasley," I prompted. "What were you about to say?"  
  
"Nothing," he mumbled, looking at the floor.  
  
"Decided to not lose Gryffindor any more points?"  
  
"Yessir," Ron said warily.   
  
"Well, anytime you feel like making another comment like that, you can expect the same thing." The Slytherins sniggered appreciatively at that.  
  
"Professor, I think Weasley had something more he'd like to say," Draco drawled. Harry glanced over at him, hatred blazing his green eyes. Not that I blamed him.  
  
Draco's father was one of Voldemort's most trusted servants, as I knew all too well. Lucius was quite influential in the Dark Lord's decisions, which was why I went out of my way to be nice to Draco. Not that I didn't like Draco, I figured he was the only member of his family that would ever amount to anything, but he did have his way a little too often, in my opinion.   
  
"Now, now, I think Weasley's said enough," I said mildly. Draco just shrugged, and went back to pretending to be the model student he most certainly wasn't.  
  
"You should be adding the lacewings now, and then the potion will set for ten minutes before it's tested," I instructed. I'd had them brew a rather simple Sleeping Potion, as I wasn't really feeling up to having to deal with Longbottom's stupidity today. And, wonder of wonders, it looked as though he'd done it right.  
  
I tested the potions quickly, and then the students left for other classes. I had a free period until my next class, and I took advantage of the opportunity and went to my office to have a bit of peace and quiet before having to deal with the Weasley twins.  
  
But the silence of the dungeons left too much time for my mind to go over the past, and I half-heartedly wished the Weasleys would come down and light a few fireworks in the Potions classroom. No such luck.  
  
I remembered the first time I had ever seen Voldemort. From the time I was sixteen, the only thing the Slytherins talked about was how much they wanted to join Voldemort, and I had foolishly agreed with them. It had been less than a year from then that I had joined Voldemort, and it was a decision that would haunt me forever.  
  
I pulled up the left-hand sleeve of my robes and lightly ran my thumb over the skull-shaped scar there. I had learned all too quickly that Voldemort was a hard master to serve, and that was my excuse for telling Dumbledore what I was.  
  
It wasn't the real reason. No, the real reason was that I was too squeamish when it came to certain things, and Voldemort was not an understanding kind of person. Dumbledore had been that kind of person, though. I remembered the look on his face when he had learned what I was.   
  
Not trusting my voice, I had merely showed him the Dark Mark and waited for his judgement. And it was then that he had suggested that I would be the perfect spy. I was a pure-blood, had been one of Voldemort's for almost a year, and I had the will to do it. And I, knowing that I could very well be killed doing this, had agreed.  
  
And that was why I was here now, I mused. A few years ago, there was nothing I wouldn't give to have never been one of Voldemort's, but these days I saw the importance of what I was doing. I still feared being caught, but I was growing more and more confident, and although I still feared Voldemort's powers, I feared being like him even more. Yes, the thing I feared more than anything was the thought of what could've happened had my loyalties remained with Voldemort. That was why I did this. That was why.  
  
I still wished that I had not had to go back to the dangerous but necessary job of being a spy, but wishing never changed anything. I imagine that Potter often wished that he was not who he was. I would; being the prime target for a mad-man is not a good idea, especially when that mad-man had the powers Voldemort does.  
  
I often wished that I had known that the Potter's friends had betrayed them. That way, every time Harry misbehaved, I could yell at James. I smirked as I thought it, but it was true, in a way: I did wish that the Potter's were still alive.   
  
'But wishing changes nothing,' I thought bitterly. 'If it did, I wouldn't even be thinking things like this. I'd be....' Well, I wouldn't be who I was. All my friends were either dead or fighting for the opposing side, and I had sworn that I would never let my emotions get in the way of what I had to do. My past was an awful mix of lies, deception, and treachory, but that was the way things were.  
  
If only wishes changed the past....  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Default Chapter Title

  
When the Lines Blur  
  
Fourth in my Snape series. And would you know, this all started as just a little thing to get me past my writers block. Read the other three to get the complete picture, but this can stand alone if you like. Single quotations are what Snape's thinking, it's from Snape's POV, yadda, yadda, the usual.  
  
  
  
  
  
As I watched Voldemort grow stronger, I was afraid. If we didn't do something now, we'd never get the chance. We'd just seen the train off from Hogwarts, and the entire staff were discussing Voldemort, and our chances against him.  
  
And yet, some little part of me that I thought I had banished forever was nagging at me, forcing me to ask myself the inevitable question: Would it really matter to me which side won in the coming battle? Should it matter?  
  
Yes, I tried to convince myself. Dumbledore was the truest friend you could ask for, and I knew for a fact that Albus was a prime target on Voldemort's `wish I could murder them' list. Second only, in fact, to Potter. I shuddered to think what would happen if Voldemort actually got everything he wanted for Christmas.  
  
`But if the Light Side wins, you'll be fine, and if the Dark Side wins, you'll be even better off,' insisted that little voice, and it was becoming harder and harder to deny what I knew to be the truth. But for some reason I reacted violently to it.  
  
'No! I can't desert Hogwarts now! They need me! This is what I have to do, and there's Potter, I have to protect him.'  
  
"Severus?" I glanced up at the owner of the voice and saw Albus Dumbledore regarding me with a curious expression on his face.  
  
"Did you say something?"  
  
"I was just discussing Voldemort with the other teachers. Not that you need it."  
  
"And I missed it?" I asked with mock-horror. "Oh dear, Voldemort's really gonna get me now: I could've been listening in on your conversation, gathering important information, and I was day-dreaming!" He chuckled appreciatively.  
  
"It's good to see that the whole Voldemort thing isn't panicking you, but aren't you taking this a bit casually?" he inquired.  
  
"Casually? If you think this is casual, than you're crazier than I thought. It's all I can do to not just- just..."  
  
"Just what?" The question startled me. It wasn't that it was unexpected, it was that I didn't know the answer. I didn't know what I wanted, short of Voldemort's defeat. Like that was gonna happen.  
  
"I don't know," I admitted.   
  
"You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?" Dumbledore asked, and there was a tenseness in his voice that hadn't been there before. Not that I blamed him. He couldn't afford to take any chances; not just for his sake, but for the entire wizarding world. Because just as Potter was a symbol of hope for most wizards, we were counting on Albus to lead us.  
  
"I don't know!" I almost yelled, and the entire staff turned to stare at me. I glared at them, and they turned back to their own conversations again, but I could almost feel their eyes on me. I normally didn't lose control like that. I stormed out of the hall, and headed down to my office. Albus followed.  
  
"I didn't mean to sound so accusing," he began, "and I'm sorry. But-"  
  
"But I'm one of Voldemort's, and never to be trusted," I finished for him.  
  
"That's not what I said, and that's not what I mean. You're taking this way too personally."  
  
"Drop dead."   
  
He paused in mid-stride, and I chanced a glance back at him. He looked shocked and hurt, and I felt bad about what I'd said. Especially since him dropping dead was exactly what Voldemort had in mind. But I couldn't go back now. It would be easier for him -if worst came to worst- if he didn't feel that my well-being was his responsibility.  
  
I continued down the stairs to my office, and this time he didn't follow. I slammed the office door behind me as hard as I could, showing the violent side of my nature that Voldemort had been so quick to pick up on. But that just showed how much he knew. Because I was certain he didn't know I was a spy for the opposing side. No, the question I kept asking myself was whether or not I was truly helping Dumbledore's side. Or was I just looking out for my own best interests?  
  
I continued to ask myself the question, both because it seemed important to me, and because I couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer.  
  
'And I won't find an answer,' I thought bitterly. And it was true. Because sometimes the best of intentions turn out so wrong. It didn't seem fair. I didn't deserve this.  
  
'Neither did Lily and James and Harry.' It was true, and I knew it.   
  
'But I did all I could for James and Lily!' That was likely true as well, but who could tell for certain? The lines between good and evil blurred in this war. The difference between right and wrong was so easy to forget, and I wondered whether I really was better than Voldemort. It was easy to say I was, but was I really? Were any of us?  
  
I couldn't be sure. Because to win we'd have to be as ruthless and heartless as Voldemort himself was, and I couldn't see the point of winning, if by winning we lost exactly what we were fighting for.  
  
But who was I to say whether we were right or wrong? I only hoped we would do what was right. You couldn't ask for anything else.   
  
And the lines blur....  
  
  
  
  



	5. Default Chapter Title

From Snape POV, as usual. This is after 'When the Lines Blur.' Set sometime during Harry's fifth year.  
  
  
  
I stalked through the corridors, glaring at the rest of the staff, not really mad at them, but unable to face what was really bothering me. That is, until I almost literally ran into Harry Potter.  
  
He was alone, which surprised me. Granger and Weasley were always with him, always there when he needed them. But looking more closely at him, I could see a haunted sort of look in his eyes, and I understood instantly why Granger and Weasley weren't with him.   
  
He hadn't wanted them there. I wouldn't have either, because I knew from the look in his eyes what he'd been thinking about. Cedric.   
  
It hadn't been Harry's fault, even I admitted it. But Potter couldn't let go of the guilt for what he could never change, and it would haunt him for the rest of life. I knew. The same thoughts now haunted me, the same regrets that maybe I could have done something, even when the people you trust the most, even when reason itself says that there was nothing you could do.  
  
"Professor Snape." He said it timidly, obviously ashamed at being seen like this.  
  
"Potter, what are you doing?" I demanded, but my voice lacked the anger he expected, particularly as he wasn't even supposed to be out of his dormitory this late.  
  
"Just walking around," he said, almost defensively. I nodded knowingly, and he winced, almost as though he knew what I was thinking.   
  
I started to tell him just to leave, just to go back to his common room, but a sudden wave of agony through my left arm was enough to drive the thought from my mind. I let out an involuntary gasp of pain and closed my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the thought that it would be over soon. This had happened before, many times, each all the more painful than the last.  
  
"Professor!" Harry yelped, and I thought I heard genuine concern in his voice.   
  
"I'm....okay," I panted, as the pain slowly faded. It still hurt like never before, however, and I gingerly pushed up my left sleeve to look at the skull-shaped scar there. It was almost black, the color my permanent reminder that, with Voldemort on the rise again, I was in danger once more.  
  
"Professor?" Harry repeated, and it was a question this time. Realizing with a start that he was still standing there, I straightened swiftly, ignoring the last twinges of pain in my arm.  
  
"What, Potter?" I barked.  
  
"What's wrong with you?"  
  
"It's nothing," I snapped viciously.   
  
"Oh, so a great lot of nothing could make you flinch like that?" He sounded almost surprised by his own boldness, but too curious to stop himself from asking the question. I hesitated, then sighed.  
  
"It's Voldemort," I said shortly, almost afraid to say the name, but determined not to show fear in front of Potter, of all people.   
  
"Is he calling you?" The question was so matter-of-fact, nonchalant, that I was startled. I knew Albus had told Harry what I had been, but I hadn't expected him to be so calm about it.  
  
"No. Not exactly. He's threatening me. He always does, to all of them. He wants to assure himself of our loyalty, and he tests us. Like now." I snorted decisively. "Lot of good it did him in my case."  
  
"No, it certainly didn't do him much good," Potter agreed, and before I could say more he'd gone, disappearing into the shadows of the castle. I headed back to my office, wondering why I'd told one of the people I hated beyond all others one of my painful secrets.  
  
But in my heart, I already knew. Harry hadn't let Hermione and Ron help him deal with this situation because he feared for them. Not so much for their safety- Hogwarts was about the safest place there was- but for their childish innocence. Harry had grown up too fast, and he didn't want his friends to face the fears he did; he didn't want them to lose that innocence, that trust, as early as he had. That would come in time, it was inevitable, but not now, not yet.  
  
I considered the fact that of our entire graduating class, only Remus, Sirius, and me were still alive, and still free. There were a few of my old friends left, but they were in Azkaban, and would remain there until Voldemort came for them, as I knew he would.  
  
I wondered why the look in Harry's eyes had affected me the way it had, but again, I knew the answer even before I asked myself the question. That hunted, frightened, yet somehow defiant expression had perfectly reflected the look I saw every day when I looked in the mirror.   
  
Because we were the fallen, the ones doomed to fight the Dark Side until we either won or died trying. We were the ones who knew exactly what we were fighting against, and would have preferred not to know. We were the haunted heroes of a battle that had not yet been fought, but that was as inevitable as the rising sun.  
  
Most of us- McGonagall, Flitwick, Dumbledore, Harry, and I- had learned to ignore the fear of that battle to come, but the tension, the outright fear, showed in our eyes, and it would always be there, because even if we won the coming battle there would always be another. Always.  
  
We were haunted by a knowledge we didn't want, haunted by a future we could never escape.   
  
But only our eyes told the tale.   
  



	6. Default Chapter Title

This is the sixth part to my Snape series. It's a bit out of character, but it had to happen eventually, and this was the best way to do it (no, I'm not telling you what happens, you'll have to read it and find out!). You HAVE to read 'Eight Seconds' to understand some of the stuff in this one, and I would recommend rereading the ES if you don't remember all that happened. If you don't like it, don't blame me. This was written at one o'clock in the morning, alright?!  
  
  
  
"Potter, can't you do anything right?" I demanded, exasperated.   
  
"I don't know what I did, honest," he protested. I scowled as I looked at his potion. It was supposed to be blue. It was orange.   
  
Of course, you couldn't really blame him for that. The threat of attack from Voldemort was growing, and frankly, Harry didn't have time to study, what with taking extra Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons from Dumbledore.  
  
"Detention, Potter," I sighed, mentally reviewing all the unpleasant things I could make him do. Draco Malfoy snickered, and I glanced over at him. His father was influencing him more and more, and I despaired for his future. If Lucius told him to, Draco would join Voldemort, and once that happened there was no going back.   
  
Well, that was not exactly true. I was the living example of that impossibility. But I knew all too well that even if Draco figured out what I had realized too late, his father wouldn't hesitate to turn him in. I knew it for a fact. Lucius had been a friend of mine for years before we'd joined Voldemort, and he'd never been the same afterward.   
  
Where Voldemort's cruelty and vicious nature had finally convinced me to return to Dumbledore's side, Lucius had stayed true to his master, and now I barely recognized Lucius as the kind-hearted fourth year who'd rescued me from a pair of Gryffindor third years during my first year at Hogwarts.  
  
"Professor?" said a very timid voice behind me, effectively snapping me out of my reverie.  
  
"What is it, Ms. Granger?"   
  
"My potion's finished, Professor." I checked out the potion quickly, and then the bell rang, not a moment too soon. I collapsed into my chair and considered what I was going to do.   
  
Voldemort was getting suspicious, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he figured out what I was. And yet I couldn't leave. If I left, I would never have to stand before him and look into those red eyes and lie to him, knowing that every time I did I was risking death. But if I left, if I left and then something happened to Harry..... I tried not to think about that, but I couldn't help it. I never could.  
  
* * *   
"Professor Snape, I'm here for my detention," Harry sighed. It had been a few hours since I'd assigned that particular detention, but still I couldn't stop wondering what Voldemort would do if he knew I was a spy. No one had ever done it before, and I honestly had no idea what he'd do. Nor was I sure I wanted to know.  
  
I set Potter to work and then went back to my desk and started grading papers. I couldn't keep my mind on my task, however, and after a few minutes I gave up and simply sat watching Potter as he worked. He finished finally and sat down in one of desks, obviously tired out.  
  
"If you hate me so much, why do you keep trying to save my life?" he asked bluntly after a moment. The question surprised me, and I just sat there staring at him, wondering where he'd gotten the courage to ask me that.   
  
"Go on, answer the question," he prompted. "I know everyone says that you hate me just because of my father, but that can't be the real reason."  
  
"It's not," I said flatly. "I didn't like your father, that was true, but I didn't hate him that much."  
  
"Then what's the other reason? You know, the one that all the teachers know and don't want to tell me." I sighed, trying to find a way out of answering him. I wasn't sure why the staff wouldn't tell him, or what they thought they were trying to hide, but I certainly knew the answer to his question, and it was surprising in its simplicity.  
  
"Why do you want to know?" I asked, stalling for time.  
  
"Because I have to know."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And nothing, Professor. I'm just curious."  
  
"What if I said that that 'curiosity' was about to get you in more trouble than you've ever been in in your life?"  
  
"Why won't you tell me?" he demanded, and I could hear a certain urgency in his voice.  
  
"What do you want me to say?" I whispered, and for a moment my black eyes met his green ones. In that moment, I knew why Voldemort's hatred for him went beyond simple necessity. Because he was right, and I knew it. He deserved to know, and I was the only one who could tell him.  
  
"I want the truth," he said simply.  
  
"You don't need to know the truth."  
  
"Who are you to decide that?" Ordinarily if he had used that tone of voice with me he'd be in detention for the next week, but this time was different. This time was different because he was right, and I hated that. There was only one other person in the world who could make me feel like this, and that was Harry's complete opposite. Voldemort.  
  
"I swore to your mother, Potter, that I would protect you, and I will do my best to keep my vow," I said. I hadn't even realized I was about to say it, and I briefly wondered why I could risk my life by lying to Voldemort, and I couldn't lie to a fifteen-year-old boy.   
  
"But you hated my parents," he said after a moment. "Why would you try to protect me, for their sake?"  
  
"Because your parents saved my life, Potter. They didn't know it, but they did." And I told him everything. About the night his parents died, about my secret vow to protect him, and about my fears for his safety. He was silent for a long time after I finished.  
  
"So that's why you tried so hard to protect me when I was first year. And last year, you were one of the ones who protected me from Barty Crouch." I smiled ruefully.  
  
"Yes. That's right. And when you disappeared during the final task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, I was almost panicky as Albus. Almost."  
  
"And you were rather nice for a bit after the Tournament," he added. I laughed.  
  
"What else could I do, especially after McGonagall threatened me with death if I so much as yelled at you for at least a week?"  
  
"You broke your word, I oughta tell," he said shrewdly.  
  
"Do it and die."   
  
"I'd rather not, really. I have enough with Voldemort after my head."   
  
"Yeah, you do," I agreed. "But I still hate you, Potter."  
  
"And the feeling's mutual," he shot back. I rolled my eyes again.  
  
"Get out," I ordered, and he went, trotting upstairs to Gryffindor tower. Or at least I hoped he was going up to Gryffindor tower.  
  
I sat there for a few minutes, wondering why I'd done what I had. The things I'd said could put my life -and Harry's- in danger. But he deserved to know, I supposed. And he wasn't such a fool as to talk about what I'd said with anyone he didn't trust completely.   
  
I had to trust somebody. The Potters had trusted the enemy, and look how that had turned out.  
  
But sometimes the enemy is the only one who understands.  
  
  
  
  



	7. Default Chapter Title

This is the seventh part to my Snape series, and that this series has been so popular never ceases to amaze me. But, now to serious business. Since there's been some problems knowing which part's which, they'll be numbered from now on, 'kay?  
  
  
  
  
  
I collapsed into one of the chairs in the staffroom, which was mercifully empty. Harry Potter and his friends had been particularly destructive during their afternoon Potions lesson, and I was tired out from trying to keep them under control. And even worse, I had the Weasley twins the lesson after Potter, which accounted for my exhaustion.  
  
"Severus, just the person I wanted to see," Albus said, coming in the door. I mentally groaned, not feeling up to another one of Dumbledore's lectures. Don't get me wrong, I like the man and I admire his many talents, but giving lectures has never been his strong point--he prefers to administer justice with those blue eyes of his--which means that his lectures always wind up nearly the same. It's absolutely boring.  
  
However, I didn't have the energy to protest as the headmaster sat down in the chair opposite me and started in on his lecturing. I just sat there, letting his words wash over me, not hearing one word in twenty. Abruptly he stopped talking, and I tried to pretend that I'd been listening, but he knew better.  
  
"You didn't hear any of that, did you?" he asked, smiling a little.   
  
"I'm sorry," I sighed. "But Potter was being just awful in class today, and then I had the Weasley twins the class after that . . ." He opened his mouth to protest, but I held up a hand.  
  
"I don't care what you say, Albus. Harry Potter is not an angel on earth, begging your pardon. That boy can be just as hateful as I can when he wants to be, and he's got a will of iron."  
  
"He is strong-willed," Dumbledore admitted, "but his heart's in the right place."  
  
"Never said it wasn't. I just said that boy definitely has a mind of his own, and he seemed determined to cause as much trouble as possible today. And if causing trouble was what he had in mind, he certainly managed it quite well, if I do say so myself."  
  
"Well, he isn't exactly an angel, but he's certainly not the demon you make him out to be."  
  
"You're putting words in my mouth, Albus," I said lightly, and he winced.  
  
"Yes, I suppose I am. But really, Severus, I would like it if you two could learn to get along at some point." I was silent as I considered this. I didn't like Potter, and I was sure that what Albus was asking for was a near miracle.   
  
Apparently he was thinking along the same lines, because he said, with a bite of impatience in his voice,  
  
"If you can manage to get along with Sirius, you can get along with Harry. I'm not asking for a miracle here, but please, you're on the same side and it would be better for both of you if you could learn to get along."  
  
"Better for us, or for you?" The words were out of my mouth before I even realized I was thinking them. To my surprise, Dumbledore didn't look upset.  
  
"More for me than for you," he agreed. "But somehow I get the impression that Harry knows more about your past than he wants to let on."  
  
"And there I was thinking that Potter was as good at lying as I am," I mused.   
  
"You're dodging the question." I spread my hands in a gesture of helplessness.  
  
"What you want?"  
  
"Answers," he said simply.  
  
"Answers? Yes, Harry does know more about my past than you do. Yes, he does know what I used to be, and he accepts that. And yes, he knows about the night his parents died. He knows more about that, actually, than you do, and you were there."  
  
"You trust him." It wasn't really a question; it sounded vaguely like an accusation, and that surprised me.  
  
"To a point," I answered cautiously. Albus merely sighed.  
  
"That's good, I guess. But I don't think you need to confide in him anymore."  
  
"And why not?" I demanded. I have never liked someone telling me what I can and cannot do, and the accusing tone in his voice made my reply harsher than it normally would have been.  
  
"Because you don't need to tell him. Because he doesn't need to know. He can't split his loyalties between his parents and you." His words startled me. I hadn't even been aware that that was what I'd been asking Harry to do, but now it seemed strangely obvious. I stood up so suddenly that I nearly tipped over the chair I'd been sitting in.  
  
"Now, Severus," Dumbledore warned. "What are you going to do?"  
  
"I won't come anywhere near your precious Harry," I sneered, and then I left the room, slamming the door behind me. And as luck would have it, I almost ran into Harry on my way out.  
  
"Professor?" he said softly, questioning, noticing my fury. Not that it was hard to miss; I daresay half the school had heard me slam the door.  
  
"What do you want?" I barked, and he automatically took a step away from me. Harry and I had reached a truce some time ago, but I was still a professor, and he was still in danger of losing lots of points for Gryffindor.  
  
"I just . . ." His voice trailed off.  
  
"You just what?" I growled.  
  
"I was considering talking to you, but if-"  
  
"That wouldn't be wise," Dumbledore interrupted, opening the staffroom door. He gave me a look that said very plainly that, in his opinion, I wasn't to be trusted, and I hated it. I backed up a few steps, and then started downstairs to my office, as fast as my dignity would allow.   
  
I stepped inside my office, locked the door behind me, and just stood there a moment, considering this turn of events. I sat down in my chair for a few minutes, but unable to take it anymore, I got up and started pacing across the office. A few minutes later came a timid knock on the door, and I waited a moment before opening it, trying to get ahold of myself. It wouldn't do me much good to be seen like this, especially if it was Minerva McGonagall. But it wasn't. It was Harry.  
  
"Do he give you the sermon too?" he asked lightly, and I grinned. I couldn't help myself.  
  
"Yeah, if that's what you want to call it. And let me tell you: it gets very annoying after the sixth or seventh time. I know from experience."  
  
"Why'd you leave me with him?"  
  
"Did it look like I had a choice?"  
  
"Not really," he said ruefully. "He looked determined to have his say." It suddenly hit me that we were talking about Albus Dumbledore, not just some annoying Slytherin, and it surprised me that Harry's view on the subject was so close to mine.  
  
"Did my parents come up in your lecture, Professor?" Harry ventured.   
  
"Yes," I said, scowling. "Several times."  
  
"Well, it's not true. Talk all you like. He's just trying to protect me, but it's back-firing on him."  
  
"Who're you trying to convince, me or you?"  
  
"I dunno. But I do know that he's wrong. He can't protect me forever. Last year proved that," he said bitterly. I was silent. I knew without asking that Harry still felt guilty about Cedric's death. I also knew with absolute certainty that nothing I could say would make him feel any better.  
  
"I'd rather know what's really going on with Voldemort," Harry said, and there was a shadowed look in his green eyes.   
  
"Are you sure? Because I might wind up telling you some things you won't want to know," I warned.  
  
"But whether I want to or not, I have to know. I can't be protected my entire life. I need to know what's coming, because the next time Voldemort and I meet, it will be the last."  
  
"All right, then. I'll tell you anything Voldemort tells me, but-"  
  
"I know," he said tolerantly. "I'll be careful."  
  
"You better be," I said fiercely.  
  
"Better be careful, Professor. Now you're beginning to sound like you almost care what happens to me." He disappeared out the door without another word, leaving me to my very confused thoughts.  
  
How much longer could I hold up the charade with Voldemort? But if Harry could stand there with that calm acceptance of the inevitable, I could try my best to help him. And that was what I'd do, until this fight was over. Because finally I admitted that we were more alike than either of us wanted, and neither of us could deny it.  
  
I was actually humming as I sat back down at my desk to finish grading test papers. I remembered Dumbledore's description of Harry, and I realized how close it had actually been.  
  
Maybe there really were angels on earth.  
  



	8. Default Chapter Title

  
  
  
  
"Don't be stupid, Ron!" exclaimed a voice just outside the staffroom. "He won't kill me. Least, not yet."   
  
"I wouldn't count on that," mumbled another voice.  
  
I smiled a bit as I recognized the voices as those of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They were always fighting, particularly after Harry had become a regular visitor to my office. No, he wasn't in trouble that often; he was merely interested in any new developments with Voldemort.   
  
I rose from my chair and walked over to the door. As I watched, the doorknob began to turn slowly, and I smirked, thinking of a trick Black had used on me when we were students. This seemed the opportune time to try it out on Potter. I reached out and grabbed the doorknob and turned it the rest of the way around, pulling on the door very hard as I did so. The effect was interesting. Harry almost fell through the door, and Weasley wasn't much better off.  
  
"Professor, that wasn't funny!" Harry complained.   
  
"Who said it was?" I shot back, and he grinned.   
  
"Oh, well, I suppose it did look kind of funny, with me almost falling through the door like that." He laughed, and I surprised myself by laughing with him. Of course, a lot of things surprised me these days, not the least of which was my newfound tolerance for Harry and his friends.  
  
I had finally realized what waste of time and energy it was to be mean to Potter, and we were in the same boat, really: both of us had more reason than anyone else to be afraid of Voldemort, but neither of us showed it. Harry truly wasn't afraid of that monster, and I had long since acquired a talent for concealing my own emotions.  
  
"So, have you come for your detention?" I asked severely.  
  
"Detention?" Harry responded, and the innocent look on his face almost made me burst out laughing again. Fortunately for our reputations, I managed to control myself.  
  
"Ah yes, that detention," Harry said, cottoning on. "Yes, I decided it'd be better to get it over with."  
  
"All right then," I said, and, with a last glance at his best friend, he walked into the staffroom. I glared at Weasley.  
  
"He'll be a while. And he'll be in one piece when I'm through with him, naturally," I snapped at Ron. My tolerance for Potter certainly did not mean that I had to deal with his obnoxious friends all the time.  
  
"So, what's the emergency?" I demanded, as I shut the door behind me. Harry just stood there for a moment with a undecisive expression on his face. Finally he glanced up at me, and his eyes met mine. I was the first to look away, yet another thing about Potter that continued to irritate me. Finally he spoke, and it was in a strangely subdued voice.  
  
"What-what do you know about the Longbottoms, Professor?" I just stared at him with answering, not quite sure how much he knew, or how much he needed to.   
  
Because I knew everything. I knew the fate of Neville's parents all too well, and the pity and compassion in Potter's eyes told me he knew as well. There was a long silence. Eventually curiosity got the better of me, and I spoke up.  
  
"What do you think you need to know?" I asked, accenting the 'think'. What he really needed to know, what he could really handle, was probably less than what he would want to know, and I wasn't sure if I should tell him. Or what I could handle, come to that.  
  
Frank Longbottom had been a Ravenclaw, and he'd also been one of the few people who'd judged me for who I was, not simply labeled me as a vicious Slytherin without a second thought. We'd been pretty close friends for a while, but after Hogwarts we didn't seem to talk much. We were both too busy to bother. And then, so soon after the Potters deaths, Frank and his wife had been attacked.   
  
I'd been at the trial. I'd gotten a full report from Dumbledore at the end of Harry's fourth year, and he'd told me that Harry had seen the trial of the Lestranges, Barty Crouch, and another man whose name I couldn't quite remember now. I only thanked my lucky stars that Potter had been too caught up in the trial to start looking around, because if he had, he would've noticed me standing in the doorway of the courtroom.  
  
"Professor?" Harry's voice snapped me out of my reverie.  
  
"Sorry, sorry. I'm just . . ."  
  
"You knew them too, didn't you?" I sighed heavily.  
  
"Yes. I did. Frank was a friend of mine at one point, in fact. And the attack on him came so close after your mother's death . . ."  
  
"I get it if you don't want to talk about it," he offered, but I shook my head.  
  
"No. Running from this won't make it any better. But I must admit, I'm not looking forward to this."  
  
"You don't have to," he said softly, and it suddenly struck me as amusing that Harry was the one reassuring me.  
  
"It's okay. What do you need to know?" We looked at each other, both of us knowing the reason for the particular wording of my question. Despite the numerous responsibilities Harry'd been given at such a young age, he was still just a kid, and some things even I didn't want to know, much less tell him about. Some of the things I'd seen still haunted me, and I hated to think about what Harry's reaction would be.  
  
"I want to know how Neville took it, when he was old enough to understand."  
  
"He was . . ." My voice trailed off. It had been years ago, but I remembered everything, whether I wanted to or not. Neville was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at Remus Lupin with terrified eyes. Remus had been chosen to deliver the message and explain everything to Neville--he'd always been good with children. I had come too and was standing there in the doorway, as close to crying as I have ever been.   
  
"Earth to Professor Snape," Harry said, a bit impatiently, waving a hand in front of my face.   
  
"I'm sorry. It's just that I've tried my hardest not to the think about that, and yet I remember every single detail."  
  
"It doesn't seem fair, does it?" I glanced over at Harry, studying him carefully. The faraway look in his eyes told me more than I wanted to know. Because I knew he was picturing another scene--another time--a world away from us, and doing so with a clarity that both amazed and horrified him.  
  
"Are you okay?" I asked, with a gentleness that surprised both of us.  
  
"Who is, these days?" I didn't know the answer to his question. No one really was. Whether we wanted to be or not, we were all involved in this, and there was no way out. I knew that for a fact. I'd been trying for more years than I cared to remember to run from a past that continued to haunt me. Maybe Barty Crouch was right about something. There were some spots that didn't come off. Ever.  
  
"There's no way out of this one, is there?" Harry didn't respond, and I realized that he couldn't answer. There were a million questions, and no answers. Only time would tell us the answers to our questions, and time was something neither of us had a lot of.   
  
The truth of the matter was that our very lives were no longer ours. We had chosen to make the necessary sacrifice: maybe our freedom, maybe more than that. Heaven only knows how many people had fallen in freeing our world from Voldemort that last time, and this time would be worst than the last. I could feel it.  
  
Voldemort had been thwarted once, and he would not be as easy to subdue this time. Where before the only thing driving him had been his need for power, this time he was out for revenge, and his will was not to denied. I knew that better than anyone alive. My very life was at the mercy of a mad-man, and I couldn't back out now. If I left, what would happen to rest of us? Would our world fall because of my cowardice?   
  
I couldn't let that happen. Frank, Lily, James . . . so many others. I had lost too many people to just back off and let the inevitable occur. This was personal. Voldemort had made his last mistake. He would not ruin any more lives because of me. I refused to obey his will; I would not simply run from this.  
  
"Neville took it like any other child," I said suddenly. "He and you are the only students in this school who know what I used to be. He hates me for it. I don't blame him."  
  
"He doesn't hate you. He's afraid of you."  
  
"Oh yes, he is a bit scared. I made certain of that. I had to. You see, he would just love to see me get cursed into about a million pieces. So it's either scare him so bad he's afraid to open his big mouth, or . . ." I let my voice trail off. Harry'd gotten the idea.  
  
"What made Dumbledore trust you?" Harry asked, a bit hesitantly. "Last year, when I first found out about you being one of Voldemort's, I asked him what made him trust you. He wouldn't answer me."  
  
"I daresay he didn't," I said absentmindedly. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to erase the pictures Harry's question had made me remember, and failing miserably.  
  
"I'd been with Voldemort at least three years when I swapped sides. It wasn't intentional. You see, Voldemort is not an easy master to serve. I opened my big mouth one too many times, and he- well, that's not important. I fled, I couldn't stand it anymore. He'd made me do things I'd never even imagined myself capable of, and I couldn't take it.   
  
"I apparated to my house, to find Albus Dumbledore sitting in my living room. He'd come to talk to me about the aurors: Potter, Black, Lupin, and the rest. He wanted a few potions made as well, and for some strange reason he seemed to trust me. I snapped.  
  
"He was unarmed, that was made me hesitate. He'd never even suspected me. And instead of doing what Voldemort would've wanted me to, I did the one thing he never would've expected. I showed Albus the Dark Mark, and just waited for him to call the aurors. I didn't care. At least in Azkaban I was safe from Voldemort.  
  
"It was then that he suggested I'd be the perfect spy. I'm a pureblood, I'd been one of Voldemort's for quite a while, and I had the will to do it. Even then I knew I was a fool for doing what I do. I knew that if Voldemort ever found out what I was. . . Well, let's just say it wouldn't be pleasant. But I did it.  
  
"I don't think Dumbledore trusted me for a while after that, but my information was reliable, and he really didn't have anything to lose. And after my best friend died, at Voldemort's hands, he never doubted my loyalty. He did, and still does, question my methods, nonetheless. I'm way more ruthless than he is.   
  
"But there you have it. The story of one of the greatest fools in our world."  
  
"It wasn't stupid to renounce Voldemort."  
  
"'Course not. What was stupid was joining the brainless git in the first place," I grumbled. A faint smile flashed across Harry's face, but he quickly sobered, remembering the subject at hand.  
  
"Neville's been panicking lately. He's scared of Voldemort."  
  
"Smart man."  
  
"I know. And somehow I just keep wondering when he'll be powerful enough to try for the school itself. When he'll be powerful enough to rid the world of the last of the Potters."  
  
"Never," I said fiercely. "He'll never lay a finger on you."  
  
"Sirius made the exact same vow last year, and look what happened." I cringed, then hoped Harry hadn't noticed. He was right; if Voldemort decided to go after him, there was very little I could do. But I'd do my best to protect him, and I knew the top priority for the rest of staff was to keep the famous Harry Potter in one piece, as well.  
  
"I'd better go," Harry said, and a ghost of a smile flashed across his face. "Ron'll be thinking you've gone and murdered me." I watched as he left, hating myself for caring so much. I'd despised James Potter for my entire life, and here I was risking my life to protect his son.  
  
But what else could I do? James and Lily had saved my life, and I would not break my word.   
  
"Will you never leave me in peace, James?" I whispered to the silent room. I already knew the answer to my own question, though. Nothing but my own stubbornness held me to my word, and if I wanted to I could just leave; I could just walk away from the world I'd sworn to protect.  
  
But my past would not be easy to leave behind. I had too many secrets, I'd told too many lies to ever completely leave behind the life I knew. I was trapped by my own life, by a past even I couldn't lie my way out of.  
  
And I had found out the hard way that secrets from the past could ruin the future.  
  



	9. Default Chapter Title

This is the ninth part to my Snape series, and it's kinda confusing, but this is the best way I knew how to do it. I mean, Harry may be famous, the 'Wonderful Harry Potter', but he's gotta have doubts too, right?   
  
  
  
"Great. Just great," Harry snarled as he scowled at his wand. I sighed. I'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to teach a very powerful shielding charm to Harry, since Albus had been sent to France on the Minister of Magic's behalf.   
  
"It's okay," I soothed. "Most people don't get it the first time. No big deal."  
  
"But it is a big deal," he said fiercely. "If I can't do this, then how am I ever going to defeat Voldemort?" I did a very slight double-take, staring at him.  
  
"Harry, no one expects you to defeat Voldemort by yourself. We're behind you on this now, and if Voldemort does come here, looking for you, we're not going to leave you to fight him on your own."  
  
"So? That's what everyone else expects," he said sourly. "I'm supposed to be fearless, the wonderful Harry Potter, didn't you know?"  
  
"No, I didn't," I said firmly. "Because it's not true. None of us, and I repeat: none of us, expect that from you. Many adult wizards haven't shown the courage you have, and I don't think there's anyone else in this world who could deal with what you do."  
  
"Well, yeah, there is," he said, turning those strikingly green eyes on me. "You."  
  
"Not really. I'm in absolutely no danger. I explained all that." But I saw the look in his eyes, and I knew he wasn't believing a word I was saying. He knew Voldemort very well, and he understood the danger I was in better than I would've liked. He worried too much, especially these days, with Voldemort on the rise again.   
  
"Who do you think you're fooling?" he asked bluntly. "I know what you're facing, and I know why you're doing it too."  
  
"Enlighten me, please," I said mildly.  
  
"You're doing this because of me, and I don't want you to. You feel responsible for me, and you're not." I started to deny it, then realized it wouldn't do any good. He could read me like a book, and it irritated me to no end.  
  
"So?" I said defiantly.  
  
"So? You can stand there, with that calm expression on your face, and ask me 'so what'? You are an idiot. He'd murder you if he knew. And he'll find out, you know he will!"  
  
"Then I won't let him find out."  
  
"You're not getting it. For all you know, he could have the Imperius Curse on me, and I could be telling him every word you say." I automatically tensed, hating myself for even considering that possiblility, but knowing it could happen. It had before.  
  
"I'm not," he said wearily. "I can't be, unless I want to. Even Voldemort himself couldn't keep me under that curse." He paused, then continued, with a harshness in his voice that I had never heard there before.  
  
"But this is scaring me, to put it mildly. You shouldn't be doing what you're doing. If anyone's going to be putting themselves in danger, it ought to be me."  
  
"What on earth for?" I demanded.  
  
"Because you haven't seen what I can do. I scare myself. I can do this charm when I want to, I've done it before. But I don't want to. You shouldn't even be teaching me all these spells, because I'm not sure I can be trusted."   
  
"Harry, what are you talking about? You're not making any sense here."  
  
"Fine. This is what I mean: I'm exactly like Voldemort. Right down to the wands we use. My wand is the brother to Voldemort's, for heaven's sakes!"  
  
Well. That was certainly surprising. I had never known that, but when I thought about it, it should have been obvious. Why had Harry gotten away that last time? I'd asked myself the question about a million times, and now I knew: Harry and Voldemort's wands shared cores, and they wouldn't work properly against each other.   
  
"Harry," I sputtered, "that doesn't mean you're evil!"  
  
"That's not the only thing. There are strange similarities between us, Voldemort said it himself. Both of us are half-bloods. . . both of us were raised by Muggles. . . both of us are Parselmouths, probably the only two to come to Hogwarts since Slytherin himself. . ."  
  
"That doesn't mean a thing."  
  
"Doesn't it? Then why are you backing up like that?" I winced. I had unconsciously been backing up toward the door the entire time he'd been talking, and it took a surprising amount of effort to resist the urge to turn and run.   
"You know it too, don't you?"  
  
"No, Harry, I don't. I haven't got any idea what you mean," I said cautiously.  
  
"I think you do."  
  
"I don't know!" I almost shouted, surprising both of us. He just looked at me, and the triumph in his eyes hurt. Because I was afraid of him, he was right, and there was nothing I could do about it.  
  
"You know I'm not who I used to be. I can't be. There's no way I can ever go back to being who I was."  
  
"Why, Harry?"  
  
"Because of Cedric Diggory," he said coldly, and I flinched.  
  
"Harry, that wasn't your fault, for the ninty-nine millionth time."  
  
"You weren't there. You didn't hear his voice. That cold, cruel, emotionless voice that defied everthing I've ever known, and yet I can't block it out; I can't let go of that image. It'll never go away. I dream about it every night, you know. I personally put a sound-proofing charm around my bed, so when I wake up in the middle of the night I don't disturb anybody else."  
  
I wanted to say something, to tell him that everything would be okay, that Voldemort would never get the chance to hurt him like that again, but I couldn't. It wasn't true; we couldn't truly protect him from Voldemort. And I hated it. I hated it for the same reason I had left Voldemort forever all those years ago: because once you stopped believing that everything could turn out okay, it became so much harder to resist Voldemort. I had almost died because I had let Voldemort's will so totally dominate me; I would not let the same thing happen to Harry.   
  
"Maybe. . . maybe I'll be okay later," Harry whispered. "Just tell me one thing: what makes me different from Voldemort? We have the same powers, the same lives, what makes me good, and what makes him evil?"  
  
"That," I said softly. "The way you care so much about whether you're doing what's best or not. That's what makes you different." He looked at me strangely for a long moment, and then he walked out. But I just stood there for a long moment, wondering whether or not he'd be all right.  
  
I wanted to be able to help him; I didn't want him to have to doubt himself the way I had for so long. But did I have the strength to forgive myself for things that could never be changed?  
  
'The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and therefore should be treated with great caution.'  
  
How long ago had I heard Albus say that? I hadn't really understood it at the same, but now I understood perfectly. I understood how sometimes it was better not to know the truth. I understood how sometimes the truth was the one thing that separated you from the thing you wanted beyond all else.  
  
I understood the dangers of the truth, but could I deny the truth of a past I didn't want to understand? Could I face the demons of a past I had yet to conquer?  
  
Would I ever know?  
  
  
  
  



	10. Default Chapter Title

  
  
  
  
"Is this the end?" I murmured, more to myself than Harry. "Is this is end of everything I've ever known?" He didn't answer me. He couldn't; no one could. Because no one could understand what I was going through. My entire life was falling down around me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. All I could do was stand back and watch as the world I knew collapsed.  
  
Voldemort had made the decision I dreaded. He had decided to go after Harry, regardless of the consequences, and he had ordered me to secure Harry's downfall. Which left me in a very difficult position. I could give Harry to Voldemort and doom my world; or I could refuse, which would have the same effect in the long run. My job as a spy had become more and more important, and it was only by using my information that we had averted all-out war for so long.  
  
I had been a fool, it seemed so obvious now. I could not have hoped to never have my true loyalties discovered. That was what it came down to, really. If I didn't give Harry to Voldemort, the Dark Lord would figure out where my loyalties lay, and that would be the end of that. The end, in fact, of me. No one had betrayed Lord Voldemort before; he was not about to let his followers start double-crossing him now.  
  
And it came down to one question. The one question I couldn't answer. Should I save myself? Or save the one person who had a chance of preventing this needless bloodshed? Did I even have a right to make that choice?  
  
"Professor?" Harry's voice was very soft, but I felt the tension in his tone. And I knew he was wondering whether he should trust me. I thought that he had already made his choice. He couldn't trust me, for both our sakes.  
  
"Severus. My name is Severus. Quit with the 'Professor' stuff. I haven't got the patience for that right now."  
  
"Do you ever?" Under ordinary circumstances I would have thought that he simply being annoying. But now I knew that he was asking more than what he was saying. I sighed. Maybe I was just reading too much into things. I did too much of that these days.   
  
"I don't know." It was a simple answer to a simple question, but it suddenly struck me that those three little words could totally sum up my life at the moment.   
  
"You know what Voldemort has asked me to do, don't you?" I asked him, watching him carefully. I needed to see his reaction. I needed someone to be sure, because I couldn't be.  
  
"Yes. I know."   
  
"And?"  
  
"Why are you asking me? It's entirely up to you."  
  
"It's not," I sighed, sinking into my office chair. "It's never up to me. It can't be."  
  
"Why can't it?"  
  
"Stop with the questions. You're starting to sound like Dumbledore. You tell me. I can't make this decision on my own. It's your life. Tell me what you want me to do." He snorted derisively.  
  
"Are you kidding? You don't even want to hear what I want." I leaned forward in my chair.  
  
"Hey, tell me. Might be interesting."  
  
"Okay," he agreed, and began ticking the things off on his fingers. "One: I want Voldemort gone, done, out of here. Two: I seriously don't want to be the famous Harry Potter. Oh, yes, I almost forgot: I want my parents back too."  
  
"Lily," I whispered, and he nodded.   
  
"Yeah. I hate you and Sirius and Remus for that, you know. You at least remember them. I don't even . . ." His voice trailed off into silence, and I finished his sentence for him.  
  
"You don't even remember them." I said it flatly, but I couldn't entirely keep the bitterness out of my voice. This was why my hatred for the monster we called Lord Voldemort went beyond even Dumbledore's. And for a moment, I even hated Dumbledore, as I remembered his words of only a few nights before.  
  
'Perhaps he is evil, now. But we can't sink to his level. And he wasn't always like that. I remember him when he was Tom Riddle, one of the most brilliant students I have ever taught. He's got some good in him, never forget that.'  
  
For a moment I wished I could show Albus this. Because Harry was always so cool, so in control, so calm. Even that night Voldemort rose, when his world was turned upside-down, Harry never lost control like this. Albus didn't have to see this; he didn't have to watch Harry cry for the parents he never knew. All because perfect Tom Riddle couldn't take the pressure.  
  
"I'm . . . I'm sorry, Harry." Even to me, the words sounded inadequate, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. What could you say at a time like this? I couldn't protect him from Voldemort, and I wasn't about to start making promises I couldn't keep, especially to Harry.   
  
"It wasn't your fault," he mumbled, looking extremely embarrassed.   
  
"It wasn't yours either," I said carefully.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Do you?" He looked over at me. Our eyes met for a moment, then he looked away.  
  
"I'll take that as a no."  
  
"Does it matter now?"  
  
"Yes," I said, with an intensity that surprised me. "Of course it matters. Not everything that happens in our world is your fault, you know."  
  
"Why isn't it?" he demanded furiously. "How can you say that? Voldemort used me to bring him back to the kind of power he lost fourteen years ago, and you say that it isn't my fault? And you--you're only in this situation because you want to protect me. You're all wasting your time anyway. Whether you try to protect me or not, it's gonna wind up the same way. Why risk it? Why risk your lives trying to save someone who's already doomed?"  
  
"You are not!" The sound of my own voice startled me. I sounded panicky, and I didn't need Harry to know that I had my own fears for his safety. But I honestly believed that Harry was the only person who could ever completely free our world from the Dark Lord, and he couldn't give up now, not when we needed him the most.  
  
Harry, needless to say, looked a bit shocked after my outburst. I don't usually yell like that, particularly at him.  
  
"Okay, okay, maybe I'm not a hopeless cause after all," he amended. "But I'm warning you: I'm not gonna back down every time you start yelling, so don't even try."  
  
"I won't," I promised. Harry, seeming to think that he'd spent long enough in 'enemy' territory, left a few minutes after that. He'd never given a real answer to my question about what I should do about Voldemort, but I didn't really need it.   
  
I knew now that I had to risk it. I had to fight Voldemort until we either won or died trying. If I backed out now, and Voldemort won, what kind of life would I have then? What would happen to Harry?  
  
No. I couldn't give up. Not now. Not ever. I'd spent my life running from a past I'd tried my best to forget, but I swore to myself that whatever happened, happened, and I wouldn't spend my life trying to run from the inevitable. What had to happen would, whether I wanted it to or not. But I could fight for what I believed in, and that was all you could expect from anyone.  
  
And I'd never look back.  
  



	11. Default Chapter Title

  
  
  
  
  
"It's starting, isn't it?" I asked softly.   
  
"Yes. He's got the supporters he needs to bring him back to the kind of power he had fourteen years ago. But this time he knows our weaknesses; he knows exactly how far we'll go to protect what we hold dear." Dumbledore's voice was tired, devoid of the one emotion I needed to hear: hope.  
  
For Voldemort had finally made his move. We were out of time. He would conquer Hogwarts first, I knew that much. And yet, I had not entirely given up. It was foolish, I knew, to deny the truth of what had to come--pointless, as well. But if we gave up now; if we surrendered to the monster that sought to control our world, what made us better than Voldemort?  
  
We would be forced to either join him or . . . Or what, I didn't know. I did know that with Harry and Albus gone, the wizarding world would stop resisting the Dark Lord. We had to protect them at all costs, but how far could we go? How far could we go before the line between us and Voldemort--between good and evil--ceased to exist? How far could we cross that fragile line and still say that we were right?  
  
The questions haunted me. Only I truly knew how hard the Dark Side could be to resist; only I fully understood how far Voldemort would go to secure his victory. And it scared me. I knew that Harry could not be counted on to lead the fight; he had his limits, after all. But he expected more from himself, I think, than any of us realized. Than any of us wanted to realize, because to admit that Harry was, for all his extraordinary magical talent, a mere mortal was to admit that defeat was inevitable.  
  
We could not hope to win if we continued to rely on the principles we had been taught from childhood. But to win we'd have to be as cruel and heartless as Voldemort himself, and I wasn't sure how far we could go. No, that was not exactly true. I knew exactly how far we could go; the only question was that if we let ourselves be as ruthless as Voldemort, could we ever return to the lives we knew?  
  
In essence, if we dug the hole, could we get ourselves back out? Did we want to?  
  
It was the last question that haunted my dreams. I personally knew how easy it was to dig the hole; how hard it was to climb back out. I had come close--far closer than I cared to think about--to surrendering mind, body, and soul to the one Lucius Malfoy would forever call master, and I still doubted my own ability to fight the Dark Side's powerful influence. But if I couldn't fight Voldemort's terrible powers, how could I expect the others to do the same?   
  
How could I expect Harry to give up his future to fight for an impossible dream?  
  
That was what I was doing, really. It sounded so incredibly heartless when you said it like that, but wasn't that what the entire wizarding world been doing for fourteen years? Wasn't that what we were doing even now, when we went running to Harry for answers? It was pathetic, when you thought about it, that whenever a problem came up, we went running to Harry. We counted on a fifteen year old boy to lead us, because we were afraid to do it ourselves.   
  
We were playing right into Voldemort's hands, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Even Albus was letting Harry be held accountable for more and more, and I couldn't let that happen. But could I stop it? Or, more than that--was I right? And even if I was, one man couldn't change the world.   
  
I laughed bitterly at that. No, one man couldn't change the world. One man could destroy it.   
  
"Severus?" Dumbledore sounded more than a little confused by my laughter. Certainly, in his eyes, this was no laughing matter. Not even remotely funny. But I couldn't help myself; the irony of the situation just struck me as hilarious.  
  
Albus just stared at me for a moment, then shrugged and looked away. I didn't bother to explain the reason I'd been laughing at the fact that Voldemort was about to conquer our world. The less he knew about me, the better. Only one person in the world--Harry Potter--knew and understood the danger my double-agent role was putting me in during these troubled times, and he wasn't talking.   
  
Perhaps it was ironic too that Harry Potter, the person I had once hated beyond all else, was the only person in the world that knew my darkest secrets. He had the power, if the impulse struck him, to turn me in to Voldemort. What would happen if he did turn me in only Voldemort honestly knew, but I had a vivid imagination and the images that my mind conjured up were worse than any torture.  
  
But there was little use in thinking about that. If it happened, it happened; there was nothing I could do to stop it. I knew it was only a matter of time, though: I played a dangerous game, and eventually I'd have to lose. I always prided myself on being logical and reasonable, but this time logic did little to quell the fear that threatened to overwhelm my self-control.   
  
We were running out of time, and we had yet to decide how far we would go to protect our homes, our lives . . . our freedom. That was the idea that held the most power of me - freedom. I knew what it was like to lose your freedom. I had lost my freedom to Voldemort all those years ago, when I was just seventeen. And even now, I was not free from the dark secrets of my past. I would never be.  
  
I could not simply walk away from this. I could not back out now. I was in this for keeps, and if destiny demanded it, I was willing to give the ultimate sacrifice to protect what I believed in. Voldemort had controlled my life, but I would not let him have that power over me now. I could not undo the past, but my future was entirely up to me. I would not surrender to the monsters that haunted my nightmares.   
  
'You say that now, but when it comes down to it, you're afraid of him,' taunted that little voice inside me.  
  
And I am. I'm afraid of him, I admit it. Denying the truth won't get you anywhere. But if I let that fear overpower me, I would be forced to betray all I held dear. I knew the first time I looked Tom Riddle in the eyes that if he ever succeeded in his quest to rule our world, he would destroy everything I loved. And yet I couldn't say no. My own need for power condemned me forever.   
  
I was out of second chances. I had fought the demons of my past for longer than I cared to admit, and there was nowhere else to run. Nowhere was safe. Would I have the strength to face the inevitable? Would I have the strength to resist Voldemort? I don't know. Maybe I'll never know. There's only one thing that certain now, only one fact that can never change.   
  
I'm out of second chances. And there's no turning back.  
  
  
  



	12. Default Chapter Title

  
  
  
  
"We're out of time." I glanced over at Harry, surprised by the note of finality in his voice. But maybe it was better this way. Harry had to understand the danger we faced, there was no way around it. And yet I hated the sense of surrender I felt in his voice. Coming from Harry, it sounded so . . . wrong.  
  
"We're not whipped yet," I responded. He snorted derisively.  
  
"Oh, so we're losing just for the heck of it?" I didn't answer. Our friendship depended on my not answering that question. Because if I answered that question, I'd be forced to place blame on someone, even though it wasn't really anyone's fault. If I answered him, I would be forcing myself to make some promises I couldn't keep, and I wasn't willing to do that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.  
  
"You know it too, don't you?"  
  
"I'm not sure what exactly you're talking about," I said carefully.  
  
"Oh, that's the biggest lie I've ever heard come out of your mouth. You know exactly what I'm talking about, you just don't want to answer the question. You're afraid to."  
  
"I'm not afraid," I said defiantly.  
  
"Not even Voldemort scares you, eh? Severus, stop running from the past. It doesn't get you anywhere. I know, 'cause I've tried. I've been running from my past ever since I learned who I really was, and I'm still an orphan, still a Parselmouth, and still a fool. Just like Voldemort." The bitterness in his tone surprised me. Somehow, I had expected Harry to be immune to the hatred of the Dark Side that had driven me and so many others to the brink of insanity.   
  
"Harry, are you okay?" His green eyes met my black ones for a moment, and this time he was the first to look away. And as I looked at him, I hated myself for being so helpless, for not being able to protect him.   
  
He was just a kid, he wasn't supposed to have to worry the way the he did. He wasn't supposed to be responsible for protecting our world from the most powerful Dark wizard since Grindewald. That was our job, and we weren't doing it, obviously. But in our own way, we were as helpless as he was. To lose would destroy everything we knew. To win would have the same effect. Because to win, we'd have to be as destructive and heartless as Voldemort himself, and by winning we'd be losing exactly what we were fighting for.   
  
And maybe it was just me, but I really didn't see the point of fighting. We were merely delaying the inevitable. Harry would be forced to fight, and that would destroy him, I knew, but if he refused to lead us we didn't have a hope of victory. We were trapped by our own insecurities, trapped by our own fear.   
  
But I understood the fears of the others, too. I knew Voldemort, and I knew how far the man--if man he was--would go to secure his victory. He had his faults, just like any other wizard. Even so, I too occasionally got the aura of absolute power he commanded, and I could imagine how he must seem to those of us who did not understand his weaknesses. Yet he was merely a mortal man. Certainly, his long-range goal was immortality, but that was one of the few things he had not yet achieved. I prayed that he never would.  
  
"Severus?" Harry's voice snapped me back to harsh reality.  
  
"Sorry. I'm off in la-la land here."  
  
"La-la land, is it?" I didn't have to look up to see the smirk on his face. I scowled at him, and he grinned.  
  
"Yes. Naturally." He stifled a laugh, and I gave him a look that would've frozen the entire lake. Harry, however, was entirely undaunted, and I sighed. A few months ago, I had been able to give him the evil eye and he'd likely have had nightmares, but apparently I was losing my touch.  
  
'Or maybe he just has worse things to give him nightmares.'  
  
The thought was came unbidden to my mind, and I found it distinctly disturbing. It was not that it wasn't unreasonable; it was that it was probably true. I knew the things that had happened to Harry, but somehow I had expected him to be above the trivial fears that troubled the rest of us. And now I realized he was not, and that, as much as anything, set me thinking.  
  
If Harry feared that monster, what hope was there for the rest of us? Were we doomed? Was there any point in fighting Voldemort, really?  
  
I couldn't answer those questions. No one could. Only the future held those answers.  
  
We were running out of time. If we didn't fight now, we'd never get the chance. But if we fought, would we simply be delaying the inevitable? By fighting, would we become exactly like the ones we fought? Voldemort's will was not easy to deny, and still that small part of me longed for the powers I'd held when the Dark Side was mine to command.   
  
No. I could not give in. Surrender was easy, but then, I had never exactly taken the easy way out, had I? Or was I merely fooling myself?  
  
'When you must choose between what is right, and what is easy, remember Cedric Diggory.'  
  
Never before had Dumbledore's words had such an effect on me, and yet that was the choice I had to make. I would not join Voldemort. I silently thought of all the people that had fallen the last time, and the simple realization of how many had been killed for our freedom shocked me. So many gone, and so many who would fall this time.  
  
To fight was hopeless. To lose was equally impossible. But we were running out of time, and I knew the day was not far off when we would be forced to make the choice. I only hoped we'd make the right one.  
  
  



	13. Default Chapter Title

This is the last part of the Snape series. I'm not superstitious, so I'm not worried about ending it on thirteen. This is written much in the style of 'And Destiny Calls,' and is written from Snape's POV six months after Harry surrendered to Voldemort. After this story, in order they'd be:  
  
'And Destiny Calls,'  
'Destiny's Choice,'  
'Truth of Destiny,'   
and 'A Change of Destiny'  
  
  
  
  
This was it. The end. With Dumbledore gone and Harry turned to the Darkness he'd fought for so long, there was no hope for us. I could see why he'd done it, though. Ron was in Voldemort's so-called 'inner circle,' and Hermione was gone. There was no reason, really, for him to risk his life for a world that no longer mattered to him.  
  
I could see it his eyes, the pain that not even Voldemort could completely train out of him. He didn't like what he was doing, but he no longer had a reason to stop. It was all about the power now, all about the glory. All about freeing himself from the guilt for things he could never change. Me, for instance.  
  
I was on Voldemort's side. I had very little choice. Harry was one of Voldemort's, and I had sworn to protect him, come what may. I had my hopes, I admit, that he was merely biding his time. Just waiting for the right moment to strike. But those hopes had gone, leaving me with only the feeble wish that he couldn't remember what it had been like before Voldemort's take-over. Those memories could destroy him, I knew. Even if he couldn't change things, he would blame himself, just like he always had. And by now, it was too late, even for me. Especially for me.   
  
Maybe it was the simple realization that even Harry had eventually bowed before the Dark Side's supremacy. I don't know for certain. But something had changed me, changed me so completely that even if Voldemort was defeated, I could not go back to life I'd known. I'd succumbed to the simple realization that, for all practical purposes, the Light Side was gone, and there was no going back.  
  
The Harry I'd known had died the same night Albus Dumbledore had, and I'd gone with him. It was jinxed, I thought sometimes. The Light Side was destined to lose, Voldemort was destined to win. Think about it. We'd thought he was gone, and yet by the end of Harry's fourth year, he was back, as strong as he ever was.  
  
At least, I mused, my double-agent role had never been discovered. Soon after Voldemort had ordered me to secure Harry's downfall, he had given up on that and gone for all out war. We'd held out for almost six years, but in the end, we'd lost. Voldemort had been too strong. It seemed ridiculous that we could've ever hoped to win; Voldemort was far more ruthless than I'd ever hoped to be.  
  
I briefly wondered if there were still some wizards resisting Voldemort's rule. It wasn't impossible, even in these troubled times, and I half-hoped there were. There were enough wizards that weren't accounted for to have a fairly large resistance force. Sirius, Lupin, Neville, and Ginny were among them. I said a silent prayer that nothing would happen to them. Assuming, of course, that they were alive at all.  
  
They probably thought I was a traitor. Not that I blamed them; if I were them, I'd be thinking that very thing. Soon after Harry'd been captured, I'd gone back to Voldemort, with the intention of freeing Harry and getting out. But I'd been too late, just like I'd been too late for his parents. And, knowing that resistance would be futile, I had stayed.   
  
I was a fool. Better to have fought and . . . and died, if it had come to that. I'd always felt that dying was the worst thing that could happen to a person, but I'd proved myself wrong. What was worse, what was far worse, was seeing gentle Harry being turned into Voldemort's chosen heir. I'd never imagined Harry like this, never imagined that he was even capable of . . .  
  
I was afraid for him. Even though I feared what he'd become, I knew he would still resist if he felt he had something to fight for. Should Voldemort realize that, he'd do anything necessary to protect his still fragile hold on this world. And if I came to that, I knew for a fact that I couldn't protect Harry from Voldemort's wrath.   
  
If only there was some real hope for the Light Side. By now, I would gladly welcome the sight of even Sirius, because I'd know that I wasn't alone in my fight. But for all I knew, I could be the last of us. The last voice of the Light Side. The last hope for Harry's future.  
  
And as I stood under the night sky, staring up at the star for which Sirius Black had been named, I said a silent prayer for all that had been, and a quiet plea for all that would be . . . .   
  
  
  
  



End file.
